


Sweater Weather

by kirschtrash



Series: Musical Musings [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Blow Jobs, Chubby Marco Bott, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Inspired by Music, M/M, Pastel Marco Bott, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, cuties being cuties, enjoy this ok, jean being a cutie, marco being a cutie, ok a little plot tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:32:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4981018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirschtrash/pseuds/kirschtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is a big believer in making little things in his life count, to appreciate the things he is lucky enough to have;</p><p>Even if it is as simple as his boyfriend, wearing a pretty, lilac sweater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

> so if you follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kirschtrash) you'll know that one day i was screaming about chubby!marco in pastel sweaters.  
> And i noticed that there was a severe lack of it.  
> There I mADE UP FOR THE LACK-NESS BY WRITING SOME FLUFFY SMUT FEAT. SOME CHUBBY!MARCO SO ENJOY :D

[Inspired by this song](http://mp3clan.com/dl.php?type=get&s=caa21f5c3c4b85898ff9c7deec4bdbc4&tid=2944152_145257847&name=The_Neighbourhood_-_Sweater_Weather)

 

* * *

 

 

**_Sweater Weather_ **

 

The soft patter of rain against concrete walls is all that resonates throughout their tiny apartment, like a silent hum. But it isn't noisy, no; it's almost calming, like a lullaby, slowly lulling Jean into a light slumber. He can't help but stretch lazily across the sofa he's lying on, toes curling till their edges, as a few pops pull out of his joints. A soft sigh escapes his lips, as he feels his eyelids grow heavy, almost closing them...

...until he sees his boyfriend - Marco - entering the room; his boyfriend, who wore only a pale, lilac over sized sweater over his boxers.

Jean isn't surprised, though; in fact, he's a little amazed. He lifts one of his eyebrows at the scene, as Marco silently came out of the bathroom, and made his way towards the kitchen, silently humming to himself. He takes the tin filled with cocoa powder in one hand, and a carton of milk in the other, busying himself with making his hot cocoa.  
But Jean only notes those details vaguely, when really, all his eyes can see is _him_ ; all he can see are his black locks, framing his forehead, and his cute little button nose wrinkling as a cloud of cocoa powder puffs up at him. All he can see are the millions of freckles that scatter themselves across the expanse of his tanned skin, eyes tracing patterns from one speck to the other - a game that could take forever. All Jean can see is the sweater that matches his skin oh so perfectly, almost making him glow; and below, his eyes take their time to stare at his long legs. The freckles on his thick, _amazing_ thighs are the ones he loves most, and tracing them his favorite way to pass time - mostly because of the giggles that Marco would betray whenever he would tickle him there.

Jean sighs involuntarily at the whole sight. It had taken almost forever to make Marco believe that he is indeed beautiful; that he is the most perfect human being anyone could come across - smart, funny, and loving. It had taken him forever to make Marco believe that he is amazing, and that his body should never make him believe otherwise. It had taken him a long time to make Marco look at himself and love what he'd see; it had taken him ages to make Marco see what Jean could see - kindness, magnificence, beauty.

And indeed, once Marco started wearing sweaters as openly as he did then, so proudly, so confidently - it showed that all Jean's hard work did pay off.

But there is still something even more amazing in what he could see now; there is something else in Marco right there, as he bends down to close the fridge door, that Jean could not exactly fathom. It is something that doesn't make Jean stop staring at him; it feels as if the reason is right there in front of him, but he can't quite make it out. Even so, whatever the reason may be, it makes Jean want Marco. More than he already does.

 _I don't want this moment to vanish, either_ , he decides to himself. He's a big believer in making tiny moments of life count - for what would he do if such a seamlessly simple moment slipped by as easily as water droplets trickling away? He knows it wouldn't matter much, but still, _still_ \- what is life if not a collection of little moments, as precious as gold, strewn together to paint the bigger picture? He had to make it count; he had to do capture this little - yet precious - moment, making it mean something.

Suddenly, a cheeky way to do just that pops in his mind, and before anything else, he paws at the sofa, reaching for his cellphone - until he touches it. Holding the phone in his hand, he pulls out the camera, and starts taking pictures of his boyfriend.

 _Click._ The first picture he clicks is of Marco stirring his drink. The second picture is of him still, his eyebrows raised in surprise. The third picture he takes is of him looking right at Jean's camera lens, staring in utter shock.

" _W-what are you doing?_ " Marco splutters out.

Jean answers only after taking a few more pictures of a positively surprised Marco. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning like a madman.

"Taking cute pictures of my boyfriend, is what I'm doing," he sings in reply, capturing even more pictures at once.

But then, Marco covers his face with both his hand, depriving Jean of his favorite pictures.

"C'mon, Marco! You look _adorable_ -"

" _N-no_ , Jean! Ah, stop already!" he giggles out, voice muffled by his palms. Jean laughs along, biting his lip. _God_ , the way Marco stands with his legs so long and bare and amazing, his hands so pretty and delicate, yet endearing, and his laughter so fucking contagious and plain adorable - Jean has to have him to himself, to appreciate him more.

"Okay, okay, fine! Just one more, _please_ , baby?" he pouts.

Marco stops fidgeting. He stills for just a moment, contemplating his choices, before pulling his hands away from his eyes in submission, only cupping his mouth. Even with the grey dimness hanging over the room, Marco's eyes sparkle with giddy mirth, laughter lines etching their edges softly. It almost feels as if he's glowing even more, and Jean can't help the way his heart hammers like a beast inside his chest, as if he's seeing Marco's beauty for the first time.

He captures that beautiful moment with his camera swiftly, with a soft click that runs silent under the sound of light rainfall.

But Marco hears it; he hears it even then. He crosses his arms, as he asks:

"Are you done _now_?"

Jean shakes his euphoric thoughts away from his mind, and nods, letting himself grin. He puts his phone inside his pocket, before leaning back against the sofa again, fully content.

He starts comically running his hands up and down his arms, shivering.

"Geez, Marco," he begins, "Isn't it getting a little cold here?"

Marco rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he laughs. Hot cocoa long forgotten, he starts walking towards Jean slowly, with sure-footed, nimble steps, until his legs nudge against Jean's knees.

"Let's solve that, then, _hm_?" Marco whispers, as he lifts one knee, and places it next to Jean's thigh. After lifting his other leg, he sits on his lap, straddling Jean just perfectly.

Jean has to bite the soft moan he could feel in his throat, a result of just _looking_ at Marco, feeling his perfect thighs pressed against his, so warm and damn amazing.  
He sighs through his nose. Involuntarily, he runs his hands over Marco's round hips, curling them under the subtle, pretty fabric of his sweater. Marco's breath hitches, and his skin breaks into little goose pimples as his fingertips trace patterns across the small of his back, slowly, lingering around there just long enough to leave a trail of fire behind.

Marco purs deep in his throat like a lazy cat, as he wraps his arms loosely around Jean's shoulders. Scooting a little closer, their chests are now only a breath's distance apart.

This time, Jean takes his hands and runs them up and down his thighs. Marco's eyelashes flutter at his cold hands kneading his warm skin - just what Jean fucking loves.

"Hm," he hums heavily, "Marco, baby, you drive me crazy."

Marco blushes, bowing his head a little, eyes cast down. He doesn't say anything, but nudges their noses together, softly, lovingly.

Placing his finger under his chin, Jean tilts his face up, so that brown eyes could meet amber ones.

"I'm not kidding, y'know," he says softly, "You actually _do_ drive me crazy. You've been doing that since the day we met, really."

Marco giggles at that softly, staring at his eyes deeply. It seems as if he's wanting to say something, trying to find those words within Jean's amber orbs - but in the end, he just shakes his head.

All he whispers is, "Y-you're amazing, Jean," before he presses his lips against Jean's.

The kiss turns heated almost immediately, as Jean deepens it. Marco doesn't seem to mind; he tangles his fingers around his brassy locks, tugging at the soft strands. Jean hisses, biting and sucking on Marco's lower lip almost hungrily. His hands are everywhere; under his shirt, digging nails in his waist, over his thighs, palms dragging across flushed skin. Marco gasps into the kiss as Jean grabs his ass and squeezes it hard. When he grabs his hips hotly and rocks them right into his, Marco outright _moans_ , so loud - so fucking _mind-blowing_.

Jean can't be more patient than he is. He needs Marco with a fire that has always blazed inside his heart - he has to have Marco, hold Marco, _love_ Marco.

Squeezing his ass playfully one last time, Jean tosses an arm underneath his hips. With one swift motion, he hauls Marco right over his shoulder, and takes him to their bedroom.

Marco laughs brightly at the little ride, until Jean threw him over their bed, landing with an _oomph._

Jean just pauses near the edge of the bed for a moment, staring down at his freckled boyfriend; he's leaning up on his elbows, waiting for his lover with kiss swollen lips, burning, needy eyes, and flushed skin. His legs are bare and spread open, his sweater hiked up his torso so that Jean could see his dark boxers, and the massive tent he's pitching up-

He waits no more. Ripping his shirt off of him, he undoes his belt and takes his pants off. Growling, he crawls over Marco with a predatory need that claws at his insides.

The sound of droplets scattering over the windows in rivulets grows silent compared to their hums and moans of pleasure; Jean presses Marco against the mattress hard, kissing the breath out of his boyfriend, his lips and tongue tasting faintly like chocolate, and something else just _Marco_. Marco hums low in his throat, raking his nails across Jean's bare back, making him arch against him. They both moan loud when they feel their cocks brush against each other, as Marco spreads his legs even more, letting Jean's waist slot in between him.  
He can't help but grind his hips into Marco's again, loving the delicious friction that the movement brings against their dicks. Marco whines airily, rutting back into Jean firmly. He chokes on a moan, groaning as he leans over Marco with his forearms.

Biting his freckled boyfriend's lower lip one last time, Jean ducks to kiss down his jaw, lips and tongue trailing around the sensitive flesh beneath his ear. Biting at it, Marco hisses loudly. He licks at the tender spot, now growing red, before trailing kisses down the column of his neck. His kisses grow heated and more sloppy as he reaches the crook of his neck. Playfully, he nips at the skin, till Marco can't decide whether to giggle or moan instead.

Marco sits up, and holds the end of his sweater, trying to haul it over his head - but Jean stops him.

"No," he rasps, prying Marco's fingers off his sweater. "You're gonna wear that."

His demand sends shivers down Marco's spine. He can't help but sigh shakily, holding the back of Jean's head and pulling him into another hard kiss.

Jean complies, wrapping his arms around Marco's waist, pulling him up against his chest hard. His legs wrapped around Jean's tiny waist, the two share a kiss that lasts way longer than their breaths did.  
But he's on the edge of his patience now; breaking the kiss with another fleeting peck, Jean leans down. Gingerly, he pulls the edge of sweater back, just to see his chest, skin glistening with sweat. Sighing, he leans in and scatters feather light kisses all over his skin, as many as his freckles. His lips map out his skin, tongue tastes his salty skin, memorizing him all over again, while his hands praise and love his familiar curves and edges he loves so much, slowly, surely. He runs his tongue over his nipples, and fucking relishes the way Marco wiggles underneath him, already growing impatient. His kisses turn wet as he drags his tongue down his chest, over the curve of his stomach. Dipping his tongue in his belly button elicits a squeak-like giggle from Marco - and he can't help giggling himself. Kissing his stomach one last time, he drags his palm down his chest lovingly, letting his fingertips trace the freckles swirling around his skin like droplets on a rainy day, slowly letting his fingers trace the dips and ridges of his ribs, his stomach, his round, perfect hips - until they reach his pleading cock.

Jean does his best, not letting his fingers get too near his aching length. Marco notices, and whines, pushing his hips into his lap almost desperately. But Jean stops him, with a hand to his chest, pushing him down.

"Shh," he whispers, "Let me make you feel good, baby."

His words must have echoed despite the insistent noise of raindrops slamming against glass, for he fucking _whimpers_. Biting his lip, he falls back against the bed, nodding softly.

Jean has to bite his own lip, too; he could never get enough of his boyfriend, so open and needy and vulnerable, in front of him like this. It makes him want to kiss him forever, to press and play with all the right buttons of his, till he is left singing songs of pleasure so bright and loud, he'll drown out every other sound in a thunderstorm.

Slowly, he cups him through his boxers, and he could have sworn he could feel him twitch under his palm; his whole length feels taut, feels so fucking hot. He presses his palm a little hard, enough for Marco to gasp, and rut against his hand. His hips move so slow, almost hypnotizing, and the way his pretty mouth falls open, as waves of pleasure vibrate through him make Jean twitch through his own boxers too. _Fuck_. Moaning softly, Jean pulls his dark boxers off, letting his erection spring free.

He knows that both of them sigh at the sight of it, as Marco's cock stood firm, already weeping beads of precome, glistening over his length.

Scooting a little, Jean lowers his face. He kisses his hips softly, and trails some more down his left thigh. He nips and bites at the tender skin, caressing the other leg with his fingers. Turning his head, he starts kissing down his other thigh, loving the way he shivered whenever he'd run his tongue over his freckles. Marco keeps sighing, giggling when Jean would kiss the sensitive insides of his thigh.

"Jean," he sighs around a brilliant smile, getting Jean's attention. "Please, baby..."

Jean bites his lip, and complies straight away - he nuzzles his nose against the base of his cock. Marco gasps at the feeling, cock twitching again. Slowly, he runs a hot tongue up his length, wrapping his lips around his weeping head.

Marco arches against the bed, moaning his name so fucking prettily, and when Jean hollows his cheeks and sucks him, Marco straight up gasps, hands clawing at the sheets.

Jean continues his ministrations; he licks and kisses his cock, tasting his boyfriend's bitter-sweet precome, loving the way his freckled lover's dick always twitched and leaked in his mouth, loving the way Marco's moans and airy cries of pleasure were because of him.

Moaning himself, he hollows his mouth, and begins bobbing his head up and down his aching member.

"Oh fuck- _Jean_!" Marco cries out, his voice gone high-pitched and fucked out already. His trembling fingers lock around Jean's hair, and he takes it as an encouragement; groaning, he takes his boyfriend deeper, sucking him harder with each bob of his head. Marco's crying out profanities and words he'd never utter in front of anyone; he's speaking in a language he's never known, voice gone hoarse with each choked moan that escapes his lips.

Jean takes him deeper and deeper, till saliva and precome dribble down his chin, and the head of Marco's cock almost touches the back of his throat. Marco's hips start thrusting into his mouth, unable to control his erratic behavior, and Jean has to hold his hips tight to keep him from rutting in him so eagerly. He wants to make him feel good, all on his own.

Lips pulling off of him with a wet, lewd pop, he looks down at Marco, and almost loses it; Marco looks so hot like this, his legs quaking, his chest heaving with breathy pants, lips gone red and swollen, and pupils blown wide with lust. With lidded eyes, he looks up, and his expression pleads for _more, more, more_.

And more is what he gives him; ducking down again, Jean takes him at once, and sucks him harder and faster, moaning around his thick cock, loving the way Marco tastes so good and hot against his tongue - something so familiar. The ache he can feel throbbing in his jaw means nothing to him - not when his boyfriend is moaning and whimpering like that, not when he's left gasping around incoherent words; Jean fucking enjoys the dull pain.

His moans send vibrations through Marco's cock, leaving the freckled man screaming out in utter lust. He has thrown his legs over Jean's shoulders, already growing desperate. He's gripping his lover's two-toned hair harder, pulling at the strands, insisting for more, more, more, yes, _yes_ -

"Yes, _yes_ baby!" he whimpers, groaning right after Jean sucks him so good, "I'm so close, Jean- just like that- _Mm_ , ah _yesyesyes_!"

Jean can feel him getting close; his thighs start quaking, his cock leaks profusely and so wetly down his throat, and Marco's loud chorus of _'yes'_ s turn into garbled shouts and colorful moans. He doesn't stop; he gives him more, he takes him deep, he tastes him, licks the underside of his weeping cock, drags his teeth under the sensitive skin of his head just hard enough - and he could have sworn Marco has never screamed as loud as he did then.

He runs his hands over his hips, stomach, thighs, reaching for his ass, squeezing the supple skin, adoring the way Marco groans at the attention.

Jean can feel his string go taut; he can feel him on the edge of release he so desperately wants. He can feel his freckled lover so close to that feeling of utter bliss, so close - and Jean takes him there.

With a squeeze of his ass, and one hard suck, Marco comes hard with a cry that feels laced with pure pleasure, shouting his name like a praise.

Jean swallows him, all of him, relishing the bitter, salty taste of him running down his throat.

With one last kiss to his softening cock, Jean leans up, staring at how fucking perfect Marco looks there below him; his skin flushed red and glistening with sweat, his chest heaving with short pants of breath, and his lips so beautiful and pink - God, he can never get enough of Marco. _Never_.

He's confirmed that further when despite having one body-wracking orgasm, Marco gets up and pulls Jean closer to him, right in his lap. He kisses him with a ferocity that almost bruises him, licking his lower lip, tasting himself on Jean's tongue, and the utter eagerness he shows makes Jean moan, running heated hands through his hair. Lips still on his, Marco wraps his hand around Jean's length, and starts pumping him hard and fast, the friction so perfect, so damn good, Jean can't help but throw his head back and moan, back arching hard.

Marco shifts him a little, so that his thigh is between Jean's legs - and Jean is rutting against his thigh.

Marco bites his lip, fucking grinning when he notices. " _Hm_ , you like that?" he asks, pressing his leg against him harder.

Jean groans, eyes crossing at the way he rasps those words out, sending chills down his spine. He can't help himself; with a hand pushing Marco back against the bed, he rides his thigh harder, the movement easier with how slick and wet his cock has already become with thick beads of precome.

Marco's staring at Jean so intensely, one hand tugging at his own cock hard and slow - jerking himself at _Jean_ , grinding against him like that.

Jean moans over and over, loving the slick friction he can feel through his cock - and he hears Marco whimper below him, "Fuck, yes, baby - love it when you get so dirty for me."

He reaches a hand to grip his hip, pushing him harder against his own thigh. Jean cries out loudly at the pure vibrations of bliss he feels circuiting through him.

"Oh, _Jean_ \- you like that, huh? _Yeah_?"

" _Mm_ , yes," Jean cries out, "Yesyes, Marco. _F-fuck!_ I'm close, baby-"

"Come all over me, baby - _ah_..."

Jean's hips rut against Marco's thigh erratically, his rhythm gone wild when he feels that same pressure under his stomach, pleasure building up inside him so much he's begging for release.

He comes over him with a gasp, just as Marco does with a silent cry, thick strings of come covering them both. Jean rides his length, hips twitching and coming to a halt when he feels so well spent.

He collapses over Marco, who wraps his arm tight around Jean, kissing the crook of his neck softly as he pants against him. The two stay like that, wrapped around each other for a short while, until Jean remembers.

He leans up, looking at Marco's sweater;

Thank God, their messes missed his sweater, just _barely_ \- though some of their jizz ended up spoiling the edge of it.

" _God_ , Jean, don't worry - it'll wash off," Marco scoffs, finding Jean's sudden concern hilarious.

Jean shakes his head, kissing Marco's temple, as he says, "Y'can't blame me. I like your sweater."

Marco laughs at that, before kissing Jean's lips softly, humming at the buzz the both of them felt.

They lazily kiss each other some more, before Jean gets up to clean the two up; he couldn't let his sweater bear any more damage.  
Once they're clean again, the rain hasn't stopped, but it has lessened, as the once thick, grey sky now gives way to more light. But once again, Jean notices that vaguely, for what he _really_ notices is the way Marco snuggles up against him, like a lazy cat, nuzzling his nose deep in the crook of his neck so lovingly. With his arms wrapped around his waist tightly, and Jean's hands tangled in his black hair, Jean wants this moment of warmth and affection to last forever, wanting nothing else but to capture that feeling of utter peace, keeping it close to his heart.

_Which reminds me..._

He extracts himself away from his boyfriend slowly, before leaning down over the bed, searching for his pants' pockets...

" _Aha_!" he exclaims softly, once he finds his cellphone.

He leans back against Marco, who's now staring at Jean with a puzzled expression.

"Jean, what happened-"

"Wait, baby," Jean replies, when he flicks through all the pictures he took. Many are great, others seem blurry - but _one_ picture stands out the most. Jean can feel his breath leave his chest at the sight:

There is his boyfriend, in that lovely lilac sweater; there he is, staring at the camera with eyes that glitter like diamonds, with hands hiding his brilliant smile cheekily, and freckled skin that glows like stars in the night. _God, he looks so-_

"You look so _beautiful_ , Marco," he finds himself whispering.

Marco leans in to look at the picture - and blushes a pretty pink when he does, hiding his face against Jean's shoulder.

Jean giggles, running his free hand down his cheek.

"You _are_ beautiful, y'know," he whispers to his freckled boyfriend.

And when he raises his dark brown eyes to stare at him, Jean's heart sings when he realizes that he believes it.

He shakes his head again, before saying, "Have I ever told you I love you?"

" _Eh_ , time and time again," he teases.  
The two laugh, and continue laughing as their lips press against each other, sharing breaths, soft kisses and love as delicate as a whisper. They stay like that for a long time, entwined around each other, sharing each other's presence, warmth, love.

By the time night falls, the lovers feel exhaustion and content making their eyelids heavy. Just before falling asleep, Jean sneakily takes that special picture out again, staring at his brilliance for a moment too long - for what is Marco if not beautiful? For what is his own life without Marco?  
As he falls in a deep sleep with arms around his freckled boyfriend, he knew that he truly made that moment matter, regardless of how simple it had been. It had been one of the many days when Jean understood how deeply he loves Marco; for maybe, he made his life a little bit better with appreciating his lover like that. For who knows - maybe he'd never see a day like that again.

He had to make that moment count - even if it was as simple as his boyfriend wearing a pretty, lilac sweater. And he did.

 

 

* * *

 

[check my tumblr for more of the gay](http://captaink-irschtein.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to exercise my smut-writing-abilities, so i hope i improved! orz Let me know how I did by commenting - I won't mind if you feel like sharing something helpful, or some constructive criticism - i'm up for all that! c:  
> Hope you enjoyed it, my lovelies <3


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